


The Stiff-necked Suitor

by Aeliia



Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M, also hashirama likes sake way too much, and madara is definitely a lightweight, hashirama gives him his wood and madara is unsure how to feel about it, if you know what I mean hahaha, prepare for stubborn madara to be stubborn, warning for mild sexy times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 18:29:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9084577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeliia/pseuds/Aeliia
Summary: After a night of drunkenness and lovemaking, Madara pretends like it never happened and Hashirama is stuck with knowing it did.





	

**Author's Note:**

> hi everyone, I’m back from the dead for a bit! I recently got back into Naruto and lemme just say that these two boys have stolen my heart, so here’s a quick hashimada fic to show my newfound appreciation for this ship. basically Hashirama takes a chance and stubborn Madara is (of course) stubborn.
> 
> note: Izuna is alive in this story because I thought it would make Madara a tiny bit gentler and also so he wouldn’t leave the village lol

It was forbidden, taboo. Yet as Hashirama gingerly caressed Madara Uchiha’s cheek as he laid beside him, basking in the man’s sleeping face, he couldn’t bring himself to care. Sure, he was the Hokage. Sure, he was hailed as a powerful God of Shinobi. Those things didn’t matter right now. Laying with Madara was worth the risk.

Of course, he wondered if Madara would feel the same once he woke up. It’d been a night of whispers and moans, of love and drunken stupor. Maybe he wouldn’t even remember. Maybe he’d wake up wondering _what fresh hell is this?_ Hashirama knew he didn’t hold his alcohol very well—which was amusing at times, of course, but he really hoped that he wasn’t as drunk as he appeared last night.

He didn’t want it to just have been drunken love. He wanted it to be real.

It had started out like any night. Hashirama, uninvited (as always), barged into Madara’s home after a long day of hard work being the Hokage, bearing with him sake and excitement. Madara was accustomed to the unexpected interruptions, as they were commonplace by then. Per usual, he offered his friend a drink. He didn’t expect him to take him up on his offer, though; the Uchiha seldom ever drank, and when he did, he knew it was usually alone. But tonight, something was different. Maybe it had been a particularly rough day for him, or maybe he was just finally opening up to him. Hashirama really hoped it was the latter.

So they drank. And drank some more. And some more. It was Madara who polished off the last of the sake, his speech slightly slurred and face glowing from drunkenness. Hashirama was definitely past tipsy, but he could still function. Somewhat. They horsed around some, talking loudly and laughing like the old friends they were. He couldn’t ever remember seeing Madara as loose as he was then. It was a nice change from his usual uptight, stubborn, and stoic demeanor.

While he was a little ashamed to admit it, he’d acted drunker than he actually was. He slurred his speech a little more than usual, he laughed a little too hard, he got a little too close. So close that at one point, he was staring Madara square in his beautifully rugged face. They both fell silent, the boisterous laughter from before dying out. The smell of alcohol from their mingling breaths was pungent and almost overpowering. Hashirama brought his hands to Madara’s face, causing his friend to startle and scoot back. _Ever the paranoid one,_ he thought, chuckling to himself. _Always on guard, even when he’s drunk as all hell._

That gave him hope that he had at least a little control in his actions. Though hidden under flushed cheeks and slurred speech, Madara was in there somewhere. Most likely screaming at his body to run away from Hashirama’s sudden approach, he presumed.

Hashirama came closer to the other man, slowly, carefully. The Uchiha was like a doe in the forest. Approach him cautiously—very, _very_ cautiously—and just maybe he’ll let you in. Misstep and he’ll flee, disappearing into the trees.

_Don’t be scared, Madara. You know me. Please, just give it a shot._

_One time is all I’m asking for._

He made contact, his hands finally cupping Madara’s face. Madara’s eyes were slightly wide, his face reading of uncertainty. “What are you doing, Senju?” he asked in a low voice, speaking slowly so the slur was less pronounced as it had been before.

Hashirama slid closer to him and brought their foreheads together. “Showing you how I feel.”

“What?”

Hashirama began to place gentle kisses on his cheeks. Madara tensed immediately before gradually relaxing as they continued. “You heard me,” he murmured. He sucked lightly at his jawline, trailing his way to the man’s lips. Madara pulled back before he could reach them.

“This isn’t right,” he said. “We’re _men._ Just because we don’t have wives yet doesn’t mean we have to resort to fucking each other.”

“You don’t understand, it seems,” Hashirama spoke quietly, feeling less and less hopeful by the second. It seemed Madara had regained some of his senses.

“What don’t I get?” his friend snapped.

A small smile appeared on his lips. “That I love you, Madara.”

Madara froze. Hashirama could see the gears in his clouded brain working to piece that bit of information together. Was it a trick? Something to make him fearful? No, he would have to realize it was the truth.

Hashirama took advantage of his momentary confusion. “Please, just one time. If you don’t like it, we don’t ever have to do it again. We won’t even have to talk about it!” He flashed his friend a hopeful smile, which was met by an ever-present frown. He wished he had a jutsu to conjure up more sake for them both to drink—heavens knew he needed it.

“No.”

“Pleeeease _?_ ”

“I said no. Give it up.”

Hashirama sighed. Why must his friend always make things so difficult? He knew for a fact he wanted to, his chakra said so. It was hesitant yet intrigued; the only thing getting in the way was Madara’s damn stubbornness.

So he’d have to do things the hard way.

Hashirama lunged at Madara, pinning him to the floor. He crashed his lips into the other’s, earning him a knee to the stomach, sending him reeling backwards. But he was persistent, as all Senju were. They tousled and fought, throwing punches and kicks and knees galore. Hashirama wasn’t surprised it had come to this—everything about Madara Uchiha had to be complicated and frustrating, and their various encounters almost always led to a few hits being exchanged here or there.

He managed to pin him once more, firmly planting his knees on either side of Madara’s waist before kissing him again. Madara was frozen for a few seconds before finally, _finally_ he felt a little movement from his lips, and then he was kissing back. Oh man, how he had waited so long for this moment! He felt large, calloused hands tug him closer, one of them finding its way into his hair and grabbing it. The other hesitantly settled on his cheek, gently stroking it as they kissed. Hashirama would never have normally associated anything with Madara as gentle, but there was really no other way to describe it.

It was wonderful.

The rest of the night went exceptionally well, and by the end of it, they had both collapsed on each other in a heap of exhaustion. They slept whatever was left of the drunkenness off, falling asleep in a mess of tangled limbs and unruly hair.

Hashirama was brought back to the present by Madara stirring beside him. His eyes had fluttered open, quickly followed by immediate squinting at the light pouring into the room. He knew the man would be in no lovey mood; hangovers were a bitch, after all. But he couldn’t help but hope he would acknowledge last night’s events—he was afraid he would simply ignore them.

Unfortunately, his prediction proved correct. Madara, much to Hashirama’s disappointment, untangled himself wordlessly from him before getting up and gathering his scattered clothing. “Good morning,” Hashirama said with a pleasant smile. No reply, not even so much as a glance in his direction. His smile wavered, but he tried again. “Sleep well?”

Madara finished dressing before finally turning toward him with an impatient glare. “Why are you still here?” he asked sharply. “Leave.”

Hashirama didn’t budge.

“I said leave. _Now._ ”

“Can we at least ta—“

“No, we cannot talk about last night. In fact, I specifically remember you saying we don’t have to talk about it. So we’re not going to. I hope you didn’t think I’d be too drunk to forget.”

Hashirama’s smile fell. After all that, was this really how it was going to be? Madara pretending like it never happened and Hashirama stuck with knowing it did? His heart ached. But he was right. He’d promised they’d never have to speak of it if he didn’t like it.

The thing was, he had most definitely enjoyed it at the time. It was Madara’s stubbornness getting in the way of everything again.

Ugh. He loved the man to death, but he wished he’d give it up.

Hashirama reluctantly left the warmth of the futon and began to collect his belongings. Clothes, cups, sake flask, depression—whoops, looks liked he’d picked up a bit of a sour mood along with his things. Madara fell silent once more, watching him closely until he was ready to leave. While he knew his friend just needed time to process things and would eventually get over it, it was best to let him figure it out on his own, he supposed. Without another word, he left the Uchiha’s house, moping all the way back to his own.

Madara watched as the door slid closed. He slumped to the ground, head in his hands. What had he done? Why did he agree to that? Why, _why_?

He knew why, of course, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit it. He was a prideful man, far too proud to go around announcing he cared for Hashirama Senju. He knew the man occupied one of the two soft spots in his heart, the other being Izuna, but he never thought he cared about him in… _that_ sort of way. The way where you moan and whisper things you’d never say in each other’s ears. The way where you kiss and lick and bite and twist and tease and touch and grope. Oh god, it was all coming back to him now. When he first woke up, his memories of the previous night were in bits and pieces, but he knew the gist of it. He saw fuzzy pictures of Hashirama’s far-too-close-for-comfort face and remembered their long hair being a nuisance as they kissed. He recalled drunken words and tipsy slurs. One of the most prominent things—the thing that spared him the awkwardness of having to discuss what happened—was Hashirama pleading and bargaining with him to do it.

And then there were those four words: “ _I love you, Madara._ ”

He decided to ignore that part.

He was going to see to it that Hashirama kept up his end of the deal. They were never going to discuss it, period. It had been a mistake and it wouldn’t happen again.

…He needed to find a wife as soon as possible to ensure that it wouldn’t.

He closed his eyes and attempted to conjure up the most beautiful girl he could think of, imagined bedding her and having his way with her…making her moan and cry out his name…

“ _Madara!_ ”

And there was Hashirama’s face above him, thrusting with all his might as Madara gasped and panted like a dog. He felt a hand on his dick pumping up and down in rhythm with his thrusts, and _god_ did it feel good. Then they were kissing again, Hashirama’s tongue intermingling with his own, his hands travelling up and down his body, and—

His eyes suddenly sprung open. Gritting his teeth, he tried his hardest to shove those memories out of the way. He couldn’t allow himself to think about that anymore.

If only he didn’t know how good Hashirama looked without clothes on now.

Damn it, he needed to get a grip. Was this some mysterious Senju power unbeknownst to him until now? The power to allure others with sexual temptations and an exceptionally sexy, perfectly sculpted body? Because that was really what it felt like. Maybe Hashirama had figured out some jutsu to boost his sex appeal; it wouldn’t have been surprising. The man was always trying to court him in one way or another, be it through praise and compliments (“ _Madara, your hair is looking silky as ever! How about we go to the hot springs and I wash it for you?”)_ or spoiling him with inarizushi. The latter was more his fault, though, as he always forced the check on Hashirama with no room for argument. As the Hokage, he imagined he was being paid a hefty salary, so he could probably afford it.

Madara sighed. Was it too late to activate Izanagi and make it all a dream? He had been saving the jutsu in case worst came to worst, but Hashirama Senju could very well be the death of him right now. The man was too crafty for his own good.

He decided it was best if he avoided his friend for a little while. Maybe he’d pay a visit to Izuna to take his mind off it and avoid some of his work that involved consulting Hashirama. In time, the dust would settle, and they would both forget all about it.

 

* * *

 

The news wasn’t surprising. In fact, Madara had expected it sooner or later. Hashirama, who had been so desperately seeking an alliance with the Uzumaki clan of Uzushiogakure, was finally getting his wish in the form of marriage to Mito Uzumaki. Which was great and all, except for the fact that it wasn’t.

Hashirama told him at dinner a few weeks after what Madara described as the “incident” in his mind (which he had yet to forget, much to his dismay. In fact, he thought about it _much_ more than he should have). “I’m glad Konoha will be receiving a promising ally,” he stated in response, and that was all he had to say on the matter. For reasons unknown, feelings of anger and resentment had begun to boil within him. He didn’t want to talk about Mito, who would be sleeping in Hashirama’s bed in a matter of weeks, and nor did he want to talk about the fact that he was obviously jealous over it. But why the hell was he suddenly so jealous? Hashirama wasn’t his. He couldn’t control what he did or who he saw. And even though the marriage was arranged solely for the purpose of uniting two powerful clans, it would be real, valid. Hashirama would fuck her like he fucked him, and he’d call out her name instead of his.

It made him sick.

He watched silently as Hashirama downed another cup of sake. “You know,” his friend began, “we could probably arrange something for you, too. The Uzumaki have plenty of beautiful women, and it wouldn’t hurt to have both founders married to them. Though maybe we should save you for another clan…”

“I don’t need the likes of _you_ to help with _my_ marital status,” Madara spat, slamming a fist on the table. The owner and other customers turned their heads toward the sudden commotion. “What?” he lashed out, daring anyone to say anything. Nobody did, and soon they were all enveloped in their own conversations once again.

“Madara…” Hashirama sighed, a worried look taking over his usually cheerful features.

Madara stood. “I wish you a happy marriage and many sons to your name.” Then he was gone.

Hashirama sighed again, feeling the prying eyes of his fellow villagers upon him. What had he done wrong? He knew Madara was too proud to ever accept his offer to find him a wife, but he hadn’t expected that sort of reaction. “ _Idiot Senju,_ ” Madara was supposed to have said. Well, if there was one thing he knew about his friend, it was that he was predictably unpredictable.

Hashirama paid and took his leave as well. Looking back on the encounter, he noticed Madara hadn’t responded well to the news of his soon-to-be marriage, though it was much less pronounced. But he knew the Uchiha—they’d been friends since childhood, after all. He definitely hadn’t been pleased to hear he was getting married to Mito, but he couldn’t imagine why.

Well, he could, but…No, that wasn’t it. He knew for a fact Madara didn’t feel the same way as he did. Yet those tell-tale signs of annoyance and perhaps even jealously—the rapid tap of his index finger, pursed lips pulled into a tight scowl—indicated his friend had been thoroughly perturbed. As much as Hashirama hated for his friend to feel down or angry, he really hoped he had spotted jealousy budding within the Uchiha. That would be all he needed to cling to his hope.

Hashirama finally allowed himself to admit that he didn’t want this. Even though he was sure Mito would make a lovely wife and he would be blessed to receive her, it wouldn’t be right. Surely he couldn’t accept a wife when he was still so clearly in love with someone else, and another man at that. It would be cruel not only to her, but to himself, too. Yet at the same time, he was always doing things for the greater good and never for himself. Could he really allow himself to become selfish now?

No…there had to be a way for everyone to get what they wanted without. Perhaps some changes could be made to the arrangement.

 

* * *

 

It had finally come; the dreaded wedding day was upon them. The whole village would be attending to celebrate the wonderful event. Madara debated whether or not he should even go before finally deciding there really wasn’t any point in attending. He already knew what would happen; they’d say their vows, they’d kiss, they’d sing, they’d dance, and then they’d go back to the Hokage’s residence to consummate the marriage as all newly-weds did.

Instead of forcing himself to watch what could ultimately be called heart-wrenchingly irritating, he opted to shut himself in for the night. He had work to do anyways, so it worked out fine. Pulling out his scrolls and ink, he busied himself with clan and village matters. After some time, the sounds of laughter and merriment from outside breeched the walls of his home as villagers passed by in herds—all heading for the same place—and he cursed Hashirama for not making the wood thick enough to block it out. Just another thing he hated the man for.

This was all so juvenile. Here he was, Madara Uchiha, leader of one of the most powerful shinobi clans in the world, jealous and angry over the marriage of his former rival, and all because of one foolish, drunken night. He was acting like a pathetic, lovesick school girl. Since he clearly wasn’t moving past the incident, he had to stop and think.

Did all this mean that he liked Hashirama a little more than he should?

He didn’t think it was possible to not know one’s own feelings toward someone, but he supposed it was plausible. After all, he did spent quite a good bit of time dodging any emotions he may have felt toward most people like kunai on the battlefield. If nothing else, he was good at that. Why was he even thinking about this now? It was too late. By now, Hashirama was dancing merrily with Mito, and the villagers would be cheering on every move. The light from the lanterns would illuminate his friend’s face in just the right way, making his beaming smile truly glow. His laughter would reach the heavens and light up even the gloomiest of shinigamis’ cold, dead heart.

Unable to concentrate any further, Madara left his home for a walk. He wandered around for quite some time before finding himself in a very familiar spot. He sat down in the same place he and Hashirama had when they were kids, overlooking the shimmering village with head in hands. Ironically, he was sitting right over Hashirama’s big head. He’d thought it was ridiculous when, shortly after being named Hokage, his friend announced that he wanted his head carved into the mountainside. “ _I want to look over and protect the village long after I’m gone, and the best way to do that is to make sure I never leave!”_ he had exclaimed to him. He never thought he would mean it so literally.

Madara couldn’t help but give a small smile. While the man’s bubbly personality was annoying at times, being the pessimistic bastard he was, he couldn’t help but indulge himself in it. He’d really been bested for good this time. If he thought fighting Hashirama physically was straining, fighting him mentally and emotionally was even more so.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

Madara snapped his head in the direction of the voice, which was just as sickeningly familiar as where he was sitting. There stood Hashirama, a gentle smile on his lips. He continued, “When I didn’t see you at the wedding, I got worried. It seems like something’s been bugging you lately. Will you tell me what’s wrong?”

Madara got to his feet as Hashirama approached him, his face breaking into a scowl. “There’s nothing left for you here. Go back to the village.”

Hashirama’s eyes were knowing. “Do you mean this cliffside or yourself?”

Madara scoffed. Damn that Senju, always seeing through him. He couldn’t help but feel a hint of nostalgia; just like back when they were kids, they’d gone and met in secret again. While it wasn’t the river, it was close enough to bring back memories of skipping stones and talking dreams. “What do you want from me?” he asked, voice tinged with impatience.

“I want to reconcile,” his friend said. “That night…you remember it all, don’t you? So you should remember…” He stopped in front of Madara, a pregnant pause hanging between them as they looked each other over. “You should remember that I love you.”

What did he even say to that? Hashirama was a married man now, he couldn’t go espousing declarations of love willy-nilly anymore. He would have to remind him of his place. “That doesn’t matter. You have Mito now,” he replied, willing his voice to stay calm.

Hashirama chuckled. “You didn’t even peek at the ceremony once, did you? Ah, that’s just like you.”

“What?”

And there it was, that radiant smile Madara knew so well, followed by words that put him in a stupor.

“I’m not married, Madara. Tobirama is.”

It took him a moment to process the words. Just as he was about to say something, Hashirama beat him to it. “I just figured it wasn’t right for a married man to be in love with his best friend, you know? I couldn’t just call it off, though, so I made arrangements for Tobirama to wed her instead. He’ll be Hokage eventually, so the Uzumaki were satisfied. Pretty genius, right?”

“I don’t think ‘genius’ is the word I’d use for it.” Hashirama gasped and immediately sank into his pseudo-depressed state at this statement, causing Madara to sigh and follow with, “But it was good problem-solving. And at least that bastard’s good for something.”

His friend instantly perked up, a happy grin on his face. “I’m glad you think so! But Tobirama’s good for plenty of things besides accepting my would-be wife,” he said matter-of-factly. “But It’s really too bad you didn’t go, I made sure to order plenty of inarizushi for the feast afterwards. There may still be some left if you’d like to make an appearance and congratulate my brother.”

“…Alright.” Forget Tobirama, he was only going for the inarizushi. That was nice of Hashirama and he didn’t want the gesture to go to waste. And also it was damn delicious.

They headed down the mountainside. Just as they were about to reenter the village, Hashirama stopped them. “Wait.” Suddenly, he closed the distance between himself and Madara, his hands cupping the Uchiha’s face as they had that fateful night. Madara only hesitated a second before kissing back, relishing the feeling of Hashirama’s soft, warm lips. They broke apart a moment later.

“So does this mean you love me back?” Hashirama asked expectantly.

“Idiot Senju,” Madara huffed. Love was a bit too strong of a word for him to use for now, and after all, he was never one to voice how he felt. Instead, he gave his friend one final peck before turning away from him.

 _That’s okay, Madara,_ Hashirama thought to himself, unable to keep from smiling. _This is good enough for now._

And it was. It really, really was.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
